


January 1

by doctor__idiot



Series: 12 Days of Wincestmas 2018 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gen or Slash, Hospitals, Hurt Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-07 07:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17361719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Dean hates hospitals.





	January 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd. Not even proofread.

Dean thinks he should be used to the headache-inducing smell of blood and antiseptic by now but somehow it always hits him anew whenever he enters a hospital. It’s nothing like the smell of decay but it reminds him of the worse times in his life.

Because a stay in the hospital means he fucked up. It means wounds deep enough or bad enough that hasty stitches and half a bottle of cheap whiskey in a motel room somewhere in the middle of nowhere won’t do. It means Dean wasn’t quick enough, wasn’t smart enough, and someone has to pay the price for it.

Dean wishes it was him.

He sinks into the chair next to his brother, who’s lying very still and too pale and lifeless against the white sheets, the continuous beeping of the heart monitor the only indication that Sam is still alive.

The flimsy hospital gown and the various tables and wires attached to his brother shouldn’t be a familiar sight to Dean. Yet, he is grateful that they are there because they mean that they made it out just in time.

Dean’s owns catches and bruises ache but it’s nothing that time won’t heal on its own.

He takes his brother’s hand in his own, icy cold against his own warm skin, and he closes his eyes, listening to the steady noise of the monitor.

_Alive._

_Not dead. Alive._

He’s tempted to climb up and into the hospital bed with his baby brother but the bed is too narrow and Sam is too hurt, so Dean contents himself with staying where he is and holding onto Sam’s hand as if it was a lifeline.

He stays like that for the remainder of the day, despite his back complaining about the hunched-over position and his stomach rumbling, signalizing its emptiness.

He must have dozed off eventually because when he comes back around, a nurse is next to him, replacing the infusion bag and checking Sam’s vital signs.

“Oh,” she says as he notices Dean rearranging himself in the chair, “You’re awake. Can I get you anything?”

Dean blinks at her for a second, then shakes his head. “Actually,” he reconsiders, “I would kill for a cup of coffee.” His mouth feels cotton-y.

She smiles at him. “Sure thing, be right back.”

Dean takes in Sam’s unchanging condition. He would look almost peaceful in his sleep if it wasn’t for the lack of color in his face and the unnatural gray tinge of his skin.

“You gotta wake up, man,” he says to the soulless room. “We can’t keep doing this.”

A minute later, the nurse brings his coffee and Dean thanks her, cradling it in his hand. It’s too watery but it’s hot and provides him with a piece of normality, of home. He sips it slowly, quietly, until he can deposit the empty mug on the nightstand.

He scoots the chair closer to the bed again and rests his head on the edge of the mattress, next to Sam’s elbow. His fingers encircle his brother’s wrist and he holds on while his eyes slip shut again.


End file.
